I smiled sheepishly. ‘That’s OK. I think I can take it from here.’
‘Where are you going, anyhow?’
‘To a dance.’ I waved the mask in my hand. ‘A masquerade dance.’
Gino sighed, and his eyes glazed just a little. ‘I love dancing,’ he said. ‘But no one ever seems to make time for it. Not since Evelina left.’
I almost would have taken him with me, if it wasn’t for his position as a complete and totally unsubtle loose cannon. ‘I better go,’ I hedged.
He had already resumed his search.
I unlatched the front door and slipped outside. The sky was a myriad of pink and orange brushstrokes, growing dark at the edges. It would be a clear night, and a smooth getaway. The sense of possibility, of before, carried on the soft wind, and I embraced it.
The lanterns around the driveway were already lit up. I walked slowly, concentrating on the determined crunch of gravel beneath my feet. I passed the one and only SUV in the driveway and reached the edge of the circular parking area, and then, I don’t know quite why, but I stopped walking. I stalled, and I knew, without knowing how, that there was someone behind me, watching me. I could feel it in the hairs on the back of my neck.
I didn’t dare turn around. I kept going, determined to have one last night of normality before it all went to hell. One last night of the old Sophie, before the underworld swallowed me up for good.
It would be enough.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
MASQUERADE
For a place that usually smelt of old sneakers and looked like something the 1940s threw up, the school gym was really working it tonight. All the walls had been covered in thick black drapes inlaid with crystalline stars. They even lit up and twinkled. Crêpe paper snowflakes hung from the ceiling around a giant disco ball that cast swirling silver streaks all around the room. The ground was covered in faux snow sprinkled over a white roll-out dance floor, and the tables were adorned with shining silver tablecloths.
Most of the girls were wearing floor-length gowns of black and silver and gold. Their masks were intricate and elaborate – some on ornamental handles, others fastened around their heads with a band. The guys were well turned out in tuxes, although some had opted for Converse instead of dress shoes. One girl was wearing a fitted tuxedo with tails at the end. Her shoes were black and white, and shiny, and she was carrying an actual cane with her, as if she was about to break into an elaborate tap-dancing routine at any moment. She had a dark pixie cut that stuck up around the edges of her white mask. I couldn’t see beyond the upturned nose and dark purple lips to fully recognize her, but I was definitely impressed by the eccentricity.
It was pleasant to not have to look anyone in the eye and see their judgement or fear staring back at me. The anonymity was freeing, and with my mask tied snugly around my head with a ribbon, and the upper half of my face covered, I sank into the music and the mingling, and felt a sense of freedom I hadn’t experienced in a while.
‘It’s perfect!’ I told Millie, who was swigging from Crispin’s concealed hip flask by the punch table. He was standing behind her, a protective hand on her waist, and she was leaning into him, swaying in time with the music. Being a third wheel wasn’t really that excruciating as it turned out. I was just happy to be out of Evelina. I was happy to be any kind of wheel at all.
‘I know, right!’ She beamed at me. ‘Everyone is in such a good mood.’
‘Of course it’s perfect,’ Crispin chimed in. He was talking to me but staring at Millie. He did that a lot. It was cute, if a little vomitous, but hey, who was I to judge? ‘It’s perfect because Millie is perfect.’
Millie giggled. ‘Thanks, babe!’ She gave me a look that seemed to say I-told-you-he-was-in-love-with-me. I took a swig from the hip flask and winked at her.
Watching the two of them together, I now understood exactly what she had meant on the bleachers yesterday. Cris was so in love with her. There was no doubt about it. And she was in love with love, and I felt a huge burst of happiness for her, because of all the people in my life now, she deserved that joy the most. I couldn’t give that to her any more – not for more than one night – but Cris could. He was all-in. And Millie deserved someone who could go all-in for her.
‘I’m going to run to the bathroom,’ I told them. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’
‘Do you want me to come with you?’ Millie had already started to disentangle herself from Cris.
‘No, no, I’ll be fine. There are loads of people in there already.’ I waved her back into her suitor’s arms and slipped across the dance floor until the throngs of people started to thin out and I could relax a little. I didn’t really need to go to the bathroom, but I wanted to give Millie the space to make out with her boyfriend for a while. I didn’t need to witness that, and I could tell she was dying to kiss him. He was pretty hot, in that blond, all-American track-and-field-star kind of way. Abercrombie attractive. I guessed I only had eyes for nebulous assassins these days.
The song changed, and I almost squealed with delight. It was ‘Africa’ by Toto, old but epic. I thought about dancing on my own, then I thought about my dignity and if the rest of it was worth salvaging. I was half considering actually asking someone to dance – I had been getting a lot of appreciative looks, and since the mask hid my identity – more or less – what was the harm in a simple moment of escapism? Wasn’t that the point of tonight?
I hesitated, scanning the crowds. Who was I going to ask? My nerves kicked into gear. I couldn’t. Could I? But I loved this song. And the girl with the cane was dancing quite close … Maybe I could dance with her, though I imagined it would severely lower the air of coolness around her. Or at least sidle over and ask her where she had gotten her lipstick, because now I was near enough to see the glitter on top of the dark purple sheen.
Someone tapped me on my shoulder, and I turned around so fast, my dress swished like a move from an overly-expensive, random-actress-led Dior perfume ad.
My gasp was so intense it turned into a coughing fit, and all the grace that had emanated from my original twirl evaporated.
‘Luca?’ It took everything in my power not to press my hand into his face to check if he was real.
Luca Falcone was standing in front of me in the most pristine black suit I had ever seen. He was wearing a black silk shirt and tie, buttoned up to his neck. His hair was swept backwards and lightly gelled, and the mask he wore was thin – just a swathe of black to cover his eyes, but nothing could disguise that mesmerizing sapphire blue.
He was smirking at me. ‘Hi.’
I really wanted to go for a demure, perhaps even sultry, Hello, but what came out was a heaving, ‘What-the-hell-are-you-doing-here?’